Isolation, Chapter Eleven
As promised, Scully stayed near Frohike through the night. She
dozed on and off, always aware of the steady beep of the monitor and
the still form in the bed.
A few hours after the start of the procedure, the monitor began to
show an increased heart rate. Scully was immediately at Frohike's
side aware first, and was already at his bedside when the night nurse
came into the room.
"I've got him, Nurse Miller," Scully said. "Thank you."
Scully checked Frohike carefully. He remained unconscious, but his
eyelids fluttered and his breathing quickened somewhat. He moved
restlessly, muttering under his breath.
Mulder, also asleep in the room, woke up as soon as he heard Scully.
He stood a little behind her while she checked Frohike over.
"His temperature is normal," she whispered to Mulder. "He seems to
be dreaming. Although his brain and heart activity are slightly
elevated they're well within normal ranges. He doesn't seem to be in
any real distress."
"Is he still under sedation?" Mulder asked.
"I haven't given him anything since the initial dose," Scully said.
"What he's experiencing seems more like natural sleep, assisted in
some way by the drug. I think that Fletcher must have kept Langly
knocked out for his own purposes." The mere thought made her angry
all over again. She had to remind herself to stay calm.
Mulder watched her and nodded in agreement with her. "Once the guys
are all safe, we'll figure out what to do about Fletcher," he
promised.
They watched Frohike as his eyes fluttered.
"Do you think he's dreaming his old life, or his fake life?" Mulder
asked. "Maybe that's the process he's going through -- the past six
years are being 'dreamed away.'"
"That's an interesting theory," Scully said, "I don't know how it
could be proved, however."
After several minutes, Frohike calmed down. So it went throughout
the night. There were long stretches of calm followed by bursts of
what appeared to be a dream state, then subsiding into quiet sleep
again.
It was daylight when he fully woke up for the first time since the
drug was administered.
"Frank? How are you feeling?" he heard a soft voice ask nearby.
Who was Frank?
He opened his eyes to a beautiful woman standing over him. "Hello
pretty lady," he said.
She smiled, a little sadly. The bedside light formed a halo of
light around her head. "Frank, how are you?" she repeated.
"Who's Frank, Agent Scully?" he said. "And what am I doing in the
hospital? Did we keep the toxin from spreading?"
x-x-x
"Two down, one to go," Fletcher said cheerfully. Frohike had gone
back to sleep after greeting everyone, still feeling the after
effects of the drugs. Scully held his hand until he dropped off, at
his request.
Fletcher, Mulder, and Gibson sat in the family waiting room while
Scully made sure that the tests she wanted were scheduled for
Frohike.
"We need to talk about Byers," Mulder said. "I don't want you going
after him on your own."
"What do you mean?" Fletcher asked.
"I don't want Byers tricked," Mulder said. "He needs to come
willingly."
"How do you expect me to do that?" Fletcher asked.
"You're the big smart Black Ops guy," Mulder replied. "I'm sure
that there are times when you've had to use persuasion rather than
drugs or force."
"Coercion and subterfuge are mainly how we roll." Fletcher said.
"I know: maybe you could get Grumpy and Dopey to go with me. They've
been through it, so their input might be helpful."
"Actually, I think that's half a good idea, Fletcher. Tell me where
Byers is, and we'll go to him. Frohike and me, that is. Langly can
stay here with Connie. You can sit this one out."
"I don't think so. I still have the antidote. You still have to
play by my rules."
"I wouldn't willingly go with you anywhere," Frohike growled from
the door. Scully hovered behind him. "Not for anything."
"Not for your friend and colleague?" Fletcher said. "Don't you want
him back here with you?"
"Only if he wants to come," Frohike said. "Besides, who's to say
he'll remember me?"
"We're not trying to cut you out of anything, Fletcher," Scully
said. "We just want to make sure our friends are treated properly."
"Suit yourself," Fletcher said. "I'll stay here with Dana, then."
He leered at her. Scully was used to being leered at. Usually, she
took it in stride. But when Fletcher did it, it seemed so much
creepier.
Mulder noticed too. He hesitated until Scully gave him a look that
reminded him she could take care of herself.
"Frohike's not going anywhere until I say so," Scully said. "Once
I'm sure he's stable, we can decide what to do next."
"I see who's in charge here," Fletcher said, doing his best to
needle Mulder.
"It's about time you realized that," Mulder agreed. "You'll find it
makes things much easier."
x-x-x
A few days later, once Scully was sure that Frohike was okay and
well enough to travel, Mulder and Frohike found themselves at San
Francisco International Airport, grounded by fog.
The closest airport to Perdita was in Eureka. Unfortunately, due to
summer fog, landing anywhere along the north coast was intermittently
impossible, and this was one of the impossible days. They were lucky
that they were able to land in San Francisco. The choice was to fly
to Redding and drive from there, or to drive from San Francisco.
With the combined flying/driving times, there was little difference
between the two.
Rather than wait for the next flight to Redding, Mulder decided
they'd drive from San Francisco. Lariat's map of Northern
California didn't list Perdita. The counter rep suggested that they
get directions locally once they got up to Eureka.
The drive was about five hours, depending on weather conditions and
traffic. He and Frohike were going to be in the car together for the
whole day. He was glad to see his friend, but as a traveling
companion, he'd rather have Scully.
"Did you and Agent Scully ever have a case up here?" Frohike asked.
"Yeah," said Mulder. "It seems like a long time ago."
"Big Foot country."
"Oddly enough, we never investigated Big Foot out here."
"Do tell. What did you investigate?"
"We did have a case that involved dwarves."
"Is that a crack at my height?" Frohike asked indignantly.
"Of course not. There was a ring of illegal pot growers using
dwarves as 'mules' to deliver their product."
"Are you pulling my leg?"
"No, you can ask Scully if you don't believe me."
"I think I will. Maybe you'd rather catch me up on what you and the
luscious Dr. Scully been doing for the past six years?"
"It's a long story."
"We've got a long drive. I can't tell you anything about what I've
been doing, so spill. What's been going on?"
x-x-x
"Come in, Agents," Skinner invited Doggett and Reyes into his
office.
Once they were seated and the door was closed, he asked, "What have
you found out about Morris Fletcher?"
"Not as much as we'd like," Doggett said. "We can't go through
official channels without attracting attention. We confirmed that he
worked at Groom Lake. Seems like even that information might be
suspect."
"How so?" Skinner asked.
"It's widely circulated in MUFON circles. However, we don't know if
we can trust our sources," Monica continued. "We know he appeared at
the DEFCON convention in 1999 -- we have pictures to prove it. But
we don't know who he was representing at that time."
"We've got someone working on confirming now," Doggett added, "he's
gonna take a little while to get up to speed."
"I'm not sure I want to know about that," Skinner grunted. "How is
the 'recovery operation' going?" Other than the calls from Mulder
requesting assistance with one thing or another, he hadn't heard
much. His official duties took precedence. He could only blow off
so many meetings with his section heads.
"It's at two-thirds," Doggett said. "The final stage is under way.
We're waiting to hear from the field on that one."
"What about Fletcher? Do you know his whereabouts?"
"We've got the local office helping keep tabs on him," Monica
replied. "He doesn't seem to stay in one location for long. He's
switched hotels about three times in the last week."
Doggett added, "He seems very interested in Mulder's new project.
Mulder isn't sure what's behind his help -- if it's sincere, or if
there's another motive to it."
Skinner sighed and rubbed his eyes. "There's a lot at stake here.
I'm going through some back-channels myself. The scuttlebutt I hear
is that Morris Fletcher may have gone rogue. That he's no longer
involved with any agency in an 'official' capacity. It doesn't rule
out the possibility that he's a contractor. The agency hiring him
would have plausible deniability. A contractor can be blamed for
doing something not officially condoned."
"Yes, Sir," both Agents Doggett and Reyes replied. "We'll be paying
a visit to the, uh, involved parties later today," Doggett added.
"We thought we should keep an eye on things, while, uh..."
"While the civilian consultants are out of town," Monica finished
for Doggett. She gave a lopsided smile to Skinner, who grimaced in
return. They really had to come up with better code names.
"Just -- keep your inquiries under the radar as much as you can. I
don't need Homeland Security on my back. The official policy is
interagency cooperation. In reality, it's every man for himself."
x-x-x
Langly banged away at his keyboard, annoyed at having been left
behind. Why had Frohike gone with Mulder, and not him? They'd told
him that they needed him to start getting the computers set up, and
it was true that he was the best choice for that. It didn't stop him
from resenting that Frohike just up and left. Frohike was the go-to
guy for physical security and surveillance countermeasures. Even six
years out of date he'd know more than Langly did.
Fortunately Fletcher had taken himself off, too. Gibson made him
nervous. That was fine with Langly; he didn't need him hovering
around, asking questions and interfering.
Also lucky for him: Connie was sticking around. Monica had offered
to take her back to Chicago, but she seemed reluctant to go. Mulder
promised to help figure out what to do with the studio once they got
the current situation figured out.
He remembered the last time he was with Frohike and Byers like it
was yesterday and yet when he looked at himself in the mirror he
could tell that time had passed. Things kept taking him by surprise.
Computers had changed a lot. Even though there were a lot of
improvements in computer security, it wasn't hard for him to figure
them out. Maybe security had improved, but people hadn't changed.
They were still sloppy, forgetful, and lazy, and that was always the
hacker's greatest advantage.
They were also way too trusting. Even with newer and bluer meanies
out there, people still didn't believe that the worst could happen,
and maybe already had. That wasn't something that could be said
about him. Especially now.
x-x-x
Scully finished with the report on Langly's and Frohike's blood work
and put aside her notes for transcribing later. She'd hoped that she
might be able to determine the components of the solution that was
used to facilitate memory restoration. So far she'd had no luck with
it.
Word was already getting around about the "genius grant" awarded to
Doctor Scully. The administrators of the Mulder Family Foundation
had done an excellent job of informing the university of their award
to Doctor Scully for the study of amnesia and brain chemistry. She
was sure that Katy Chandra would still have questions; she was a good
doctor and a good researcher. At some point Scully thought she'd
want to bring her 'inside'.
Even if she quit her current job and worked on an antidote to the
black oil disease, or a weapon against the supersoldiers, she
couldn't do it without help. Mulder couldn't do his part alone,
either. The Gunmen's help notwithstanding, a full-scale recruiting
effort was necessary.
There was also the question of William. She wanted to believe that
he was completely safe. That no one would find him. There was
always the possibility that "They" still cared about him. She hoped
that some day she would see her son again, once she knew it was safe
to do so. That he would understand the decision she'd made to give
him up, to keep him safe. More, she didn't dare to hope for.
x-x-x
The sun was just setting as Mulder and Frohike arrived on the
outskirts of Eureka. The sun turned the bay into molten gold as it
sank below the horizon.
Except for necessity stops for a bathroom or to put gas in the car,
they drove straight through. Mulder groaned as he stood up; it had
been a long time since he'd driven nonstop for an extended period of
time. Predictably, the worst of the fog had cleared about halfway
through the trip, revealing glimpses of rugged coastline and stands
of redwood and fir as the road wound northward.
"What are the chances we'll get to Perdita tonight?" Frohike asked.
They'd run out of conversation about an hour back.
It had been an interesting exercise, telling Frohike about what he
and Scully had endured over the past six years. Only about two of
those years were of any interest. Once they'd settled in Virginia
there'd been little to tell. At least, little that Mulder felt
inclined to share.
The hardest part had been telling him about William. His son was
not a subject he could talk about to anyone other than Scully. Even
that took an effort. Frohike was silent for a long time. "I'm
sorry, man. Do you think that maybe, someday..."
"We haven't discussed that," Mulder said. "It's not something I
want to bring up."
"I'm glad you told me. What about Langly, does he know too? You
know how he can be."
"Yeah, the first day. I guess it's now part of our orientation
lecture."
Frohike snorted in amusement. "Previously on 'This is Your Life.'"
"Yeah, I'd find it a lot funnier if it weren't mine."
"You and me both, my friend. What's the plan?"
"Let's see if we can find out where Perdita is. I hope it doesn't
live up to its name."
x-x-x
"Scully, it's me."
She was starting to get used to these late-night calls again, and
for once it was someone she enjoyed talking to. "Mulder, where are
you?"
"Not quite the back of beyond, but we're getting there. Frohike
says hello."
She could hear Frohike's voice and a TV in the background. "I take
it you haven't gotten to your destination yet."
"We're close. We've been told that the road is tricky, and we
thought it might be better to arrive in the light of day than to go
knocking on his door late at night. How are things there?"
"Everything seems okay. No new crises, just the old ones. I miss
you."
Her words made him smile. "Me too," he said, mindful of Frohike
skulking around in the background.
"Call me when you see him," Scully said.
"Of course," Mulder replied.
x-x-x
The next morning, armed with a local map, they set out for Perdita.
The cashier at the coffee shop where they'd had breakfast was also
helpful.
"What takes you to Perdita?" she asked curiously. "It's not like
it's a tourist destination."
"We heard there were some good examples of California Victorian
architecture there," Frohike said. He'd lifted the sentence right
out of one of the local brochures at the motel. "At least, that's
what I've heard," he said with a waggle of his eyebrows.
"I guess so, though I think there are better ones here in Eureka,"
she said doubtfully. "It's a lot of bad road to take just to look at
houses."
"That might be, but you never know what you might find in these
little places," suggested Mulder with a smile, which got them the
address for the only lodging in town, and a plug for a coffee shop
there where her cousin worked.
"Smooth," Frohike murmured as they left the coffee shop. "Way to
sweet-talk the natives."
"Look who's talking, Don Juan Frohike," Mulder retorted.
The road was not just bad, in some places it was almost non-
existent. There were a few patches that could be described as paved
in between potholes that must be harder to avoid when they were
filled with water in winter. Some attempt had been made to smooth
the road by resurfacing it with gravel, which created ruts that
scraped the undercarriage of the car and shot small rocks up from the
tires to dent the sides of the car and endanger the windshield.
Mulder regretted not trading their sedan in for something with better
suspension. He felt like he was in a pinball game, bouncing from one
rut to the next.
"I don't think we're going to get the damage deposit back," Frohike
said.
"It wouldn't be the first time," Mulder said, concentrating on
keeping the car from careening off the road completely.
He wasn't sure what to expect when they got to town. Morris
Fletcher had told him Byers' location and name, nothing more. They
peered through the windshield at the dripping, fog-shrouded landscape.
Without warning, a sign for Perdita loomed into view. The road
branched off; Mulder took the right-hand fork which soon led them
onto the main street.
A lot of the buildings appeared to be original, or at least had been
restored to the original. The firehouse was brick. Most of the
other buildings appeared to be construction of wood, and most were
ornamented with elaborate trim.
"It's like the whole town was decorated by the Wicked Witch,"
Frohike said. "Look at all that gingerbread."
"Yeah, it's like we've arrived in Fairytale Town. Try not to chew
on the decorations, Hansel."
"Ha ha. Where should we start looking? Should we ask the sheriff?
Do you still have a badge?"
"The idea is to be low-key. That idiot Fletcher posed as an IRS
agent when he visited you and Langly. We're not trying to inspire
fear, we just want to convince Byers to come back to D.C. with us."
They drove slowly down the street. "Hey, there's the newspaper
office," Frohike said. "That's language I speak. I bet someone
there knows who Brian Jordan is."
x-x-x
Brian started to shut down the office computer and looked around,
trying to think if he'd forgotten anything. Tomorrow, he'd be
leaving with Annie for San Francisco. It was a small step, but Annie
was pleased.
The door to the front office of the paper jangled, and he looked up
with a smile, expecting Annie. She was joining him for lunch at
Donna's.
Instead, two people stood in the doorway. The glare from outside
made it hard for him to see their faces at first. He thought it
might be a man and a boy; one figure was considerably shorter.
Neither spoke.
Brian asked, "Can I help you? I'm sorry to say that the paper is on
hiatus right now. I was just --"
The shorter of the two spoke in a deep, gruff voice. "Byers?" was
all he said.
"I'm sorry, who?" Brian asked. As they stepped away from the door,
he could see that the shorter of the two was not a boy at all, but a
grizzled-looking man. He looked at Brian with a surprised
expression, as though he knew Brian and hadn't expected to see him
here.
"Actually," said the taller of the two men, "we were looking for
Brian Jordan. I think we've found him."
~*~